


Scars

by Dreaming_of_Fairys



Series: Stingue Weekend 2016 [1]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anxiety, Childhood Friends, Depression, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Loss of Identity, M/M, Possible Character Death, Self-Harm, Stingue Weekend, Underage Drinking, stingue, stingxrogue - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-04-10
Packaged: 2018-06-01 08:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6510079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_of_Fairys/pseuds/Dreaming_of_Fairys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Sorry that I never got Day 1 up! Hopefully I'll finish it soon ;w;)</p><p>Stingue Weekend Day 2, Scars! Lots of triggering material, just a warning <3</p><p> </p><p>Rogue is breaking. Sting tries to help him. But in the end...he's too far gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

All Sting could do was hold him.

Rogue is a mess, sobbing into Sting’s arms, the smell vodka strong in his breath, a bandage wrapped sloppily around his left wrist. Sting gently runs his fingers through Rogue’s hair, trying to calm the trembling boy. All words were lost on his tongue. He wanted to say something meaningful, but the silence is choking him, preventing him from saying a word.

Rogue speaks first, voice cracked and weak. “I-It’s like the world is trying to kill me.”

Sting shakes his head, cradling his best friend closer to him. He finally voices his thoughts aloud, trying very hard to keep his voice steady. “No, Rogue...the world is trying to _save_ you.”

Rogue laughs bitterly through his tears. “Oh really, Sting? Then why do I _feel_ like I’m dying?”

“Your head is deceiving you,” Sting murmurs into Rogue’s hair. “Also, could be the vodka. Maybe you should-”

“Shut up.” Rogue’s voice is firm, yet filled with something fierce Sting couldn’t fully describe. “I’ll do whatever the hell makes me feel better.”

“It’s not making you feel better, though,” Sting counters quietly. “You’re getting worse, Rogue. I want-”

“Stop,” Rogue’s voice cracks weakly. “Stop. I don’t want to hear it. I know I’m getting worse, you don’t need to remind me.” Rogue breathes deeply, head still against Sting’s chest. “I have a therapist for that.”

Sting shivers at the cold, harsh infliction that Rogue puts into that final statement. He knows how much Rogue hates his therapist, that lady who claims to know the best, and yet Rogue has anxiety attacks just at the thought of seeing her. “I know. I’m sorry. I only want to help.”

“Just hold me,” Rogue mumbles, hand gripping Sting’s shirt and clenching tight, the fabric between his fingers, knuckles white. The strain causes a bit of red to poke through the bandage around his wrist again, but he ignores the pain and lets his eyes fall closed.

Sting holds him, gently rocking Rogue until he fell asleep. Sting carried him to his bedroom, placed Rogue underneath the covers, and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple. Sting couldn’t help but to let those hidden feelings show, now that Rogue has fallen into the deep peace of sleep. “Hang in there, Rogue...there are so many people who love you...and I promise you, we won’t let you go.”

* * *

 

The music was loud, the bass so low it was shaking the walls. Parties at the Dragneel house were always insane. After Natsu’s straight-A student brother went to college, the popular pink-haired boy on pretty much every sports team possible began the daily routine of parties every time his parents were out.

Sting had been to a few parties, and he’d had a lot of fun until it ended with a bunch of really drunk girls trying to get his shirt off. He was a party animal, sure, but holy _fuck_ did he hate being treated like a walking sex object.

Sting’s head is pounding, a headache coming on from both the alcohol and crazy loud music. He collapses on the couch with a glass of water, holding his temple. Outside is where the main party is, but a few people are in here with him. Loke is making out with the younger Strauss sister against the wall and Juvia is sobbing in a corner as Lucy attempts to calm her down. Other than that, Sting was alone.

Just then, the slide door opens to reveal Natsu, looking pretty buzzed and excitable. “Hey-” he hiccups loudly, staggering as he stands in front of Sting. “-why aren’t you out-” He lets out another hiccup, “-where the action is?”

“I don’t know, I’m not feeling it,” Sting mumbles, swirling the water around in his glass. Natsu collapses into the faded cushions beside him, swigging a bit more beer. He looks at Sting with an inquisitive eyebrow, and Sting sighs and keeps talking. “I don’t know, Natsu. Don’t look at me like I’m causing a crime.”

Natsu sighs, placing a gentle hand on Sting’s shoulder. “Something’s been up with you lately.”

Sting laughs loudly, head tipping back slightly. “Oh, no _shit_.”

Natsu looks at him very seriously, dark green eyes swirling. “I know ya problem, dude.”

Sting leans forward, hoping for answers. “Really? You have a way to get me out of this funk?”

Natsu laughs grabbing the front of Sting’s shirt. “Easy. Ya need Rogue here. Ya need to get some good ol’ guy on guy action. You’re desperate, aren’t cha?”

Sting’s eyes flash with anger. Somehow, he’d forgotten how drunk his friend really was. “Shut up, Natsu! I don’t want sex, okay?! I just want Rogue to have a healthy mental state, fucking hell!”

Natsu laughs, leaning forward and hiccuping into Sting's face. “Maybe he wants ya as much as ya wan’ him.”

Anger floods through Sting’s veins. “For the last fucking time, Natsu! Just because I have a crush on him doesn’t mean I want to-”

Before Sting can finish his sentence, Natsu says wearily. “An’ that’s ya problem, Sting. Whatcha doin’ isn’t helpin’ him, is it? Ya need to do somethin’ different.”

Sting’s blood boils hot. He shoves Natsu away from him, standing up quickly with fire in his eyes. “Fuck you. Fuck. You. I know I’m not doing this right, okay? You don’t have to remind me that I can’t help my best friend, okay?!” He leans close to Natsu, eyes flashing. “The thing that _pisses_ me off the most,” he hisses, “is that you and everyone else always spat so much bullshit when you’re drunk, and then you don’t remember a damn thing about what you said. Well, when you come crying to me to copy the math homework tomorrow, I won’t give it to you. Because I’m done. I’m done with you thinking that I’m like _you_.”

In one swift movement, Sting splashes his water in Natsu’s face, who splutters and coughs. “Maybe that will bring you back to who you used to be, Natsu Dragneel.” With that, he turns on his heel and leaves.

On his way out, he hears Natsu laugh loudly. “Guys, Sting splashed me, lookit! My hair looks so funny wet!”

Sting growls angrily and storms out of the house. He shatters the empty glass on the walk, then stalks down the sidewalk. He knows this is so unlike him, but he doesn’t care in the slightest. He continues to walks as fast as he can. His own house is just around the corner. Suddenly, his cell rings. Sting pulls it out from his pocket and looks at the contact.

_Roooogueeeee xP_

Quickly Sting answers and holds it to his ear. “Hello? Rogue? It’s like...midnight. Are you okay?"

Rogue’s voice is shaky and quiet. “Are you at Natsu’s party?”

Sting sighs angrily. “I _was_. But then he started going on and on again about all sorts of irrelevant bullshit and I...flipped out and left. Why?”

Silence remains on the other end for a long moment before Rogue finally answers. “Oh. Nothing, really...just wanted to hear your voice.”

Sting’s anger floods into concern. “Rogue, what’s going on? Are you alright? Please, talk to me.”

He hears Rogue inhale and exhale slowly. “I don’t feel sad anymore. But I don’t feel happy either. I’m smiling, but it’s not a smile of joy. It’s a smile of... _wow am I fucked up_. Because...I realized nothing really matters anymore. I don't feel a thing…” Rogue laughs shakily. “I could disappear and no one would care.”

“ **_I_ ** would care,” Sting says firmly, walking faster down the sidewalk. “Don't talk like that.”

“Would you, though?” Rogue’s voice is light and airy. Before Sting could answer, his voice floats through again. “Goodnight, Sting.”

Sting swears loudly when Rogue hangs up, looking down at his cellphone and being extremely tempted to just shatter the damn thing. Why, why didn't Rogue just _believe_ him?! He slips into his house and collapses onto his bed, trying not to scream and cry. He looks at the screen as it blurs in front of his eyes. He starts typing, fingers flying across the screen.

_Rogue for fucks sake don't just hang up on me like that im worried about u oksy can u plz just listen to me when I say Icare i’m not lying alright I mean it from the bottom of my heart and I will keep saying that until the end of time_

He’s about to send it when he realized truly how hopeless it is. Rogue would ignore it anyways. He deletes the entire message in two clicks, throws his phone to the flood, and sobs into his pillow late into the night.

He is such a _worthless_ friend.

* * *

 

Rogue is clenching the paper in his fist, the paper crunched and wrinkled. Sting can see the top of a red circle, knowing it was the massive “F” scrawled across the top of Rogue’s test. Rogue never failed. Rogue is a straight A student, honor roll, highly respected. He is the kind of student who gets offered college scholarships in Sophomore year.

At least, he used to be. For the past two weeks, his grades slowly slipped from A’s to B’s to C’s, until suddenly he’s plummeting into a pit of D’s, then sinking below the surface and failing literally everything. The F isn’t a surprise to Sting...the thing that _is_ a surprise is the fact that Rogue isn't upset at all. Rogue really tried this time, he’d been studying all week constantly, and he got only 11/80 in the end.

“It's just a test,” Rogue says, throwing the crumpled paper into the nearest trash can. “Whatever. I still have a C in that class.”

“A C _minus,_ ” Sting stresses, trying to snap Rogue into common sense. “Rogue, this isn't you, you used to be upset over _B’s_.”

Rogue shrugs, still uncaring. “I don't see the problem as long as I pass.”

Sting places a gentle hand on Rogue’s shoulder. “You have so much potential, so many wishes for the future.” Sting forces Rogue to look into his eyes, expression resolute. “You can do this, Rogue. Please don't let yourself slip like this.”

“What does it matter?” Rogue replies offhandedly as they walk together down the hallway towards the gym. “All of my dreams are out of reach anyways.”

“Not if you get yourself back in gear,” Sting counters fiercely. “Remember how good you did on the SATs? You were in the top 10 scores of the _state_. You're a fucking genius.” Rogue shakes his head in silence. “Don't do that. You know it's true. I could even show you the results from last year, I-”

Rogue suddenly whirls to face him, expression cold as ice. “I don't care. Please. Stop. You never used to boss me around like this, you claim I’m the one who’s changed but you're a completely different person. Stop bothering me about my problems unless I come to you first. I’m deadly serious. Say another word, and I can guarantee you won't like the answer.”

Sting looks at Rogue in horror. Beautiful, brave, intelligent Rogue...and all he saw was an empty shell. He swallows hard, whispering out so weakly it was almost choked, “Sorry…”

Rogue pushes open the door to the gym, refusing to look in Sting’s direction. He simply sighs and heads to the locker room, Sting silently shuffling behind him. In moments he is surrounded by boys his age laughing and changing and spraying each other in the face with Axe.

But despite the crowd of breathing, living, happy people...Sting had never felt so alone.

* * *

 

“You've probably got the Senior blues,” Gray tells Sting, swigging his Dr. Pepper. “If you're suddenly feeling so shitty, it's probably just the ‘so close yet so far’ thing, ya know?”

“I wish that was the case,” Sting replies gloomily, rubbing the dark circles under his eyes. “I got no sleep last night and honestly I’m too tired to think much of anything…”

“Oi, have some.” Cana offers Sting her insulated water bottle, likely filled with vodka.

Sting eyes it dubiously before sighing and taking a long drink. He coughs slightly, not realizing how strong that particular type was, having to blink a tear out of his eye. But there was something in his veins already, the first life he’d felt since that talk with Rogue before gym class yesterday.

“Attaboy!” Cana cheers, pleased she finally got her friend to join her in her risky drinking habits after two years of persuading. “It's some pretty cheap shit, but it's hella strong. That much you just drank will probably make you lightheaded.”

Gray rolls his eyes, biting into his sandwich. Beside him, Natsu continues to argue with Loke over something retarded. Sting looks at Cana with stressed eyes. “How much until I have enough energy to survive?”

Cana winks, passing him the water bottle just as the bell rings. “Seeya. Give that back after school, kay?”

Sting stares at the bottle, dumbfounded. “Wait, the whole thing?! Cana, wait, you didn't-!” But before he could get her attention, she’d found Lucy and Juvia in the crowd and is walking to her next class. He sighs, looking at the bottle. He shrugs, takes another long drink, then heads to math.

* * *

 

Sting grips the edge of the toilet bowl, shuddering as he puked his guts out. Cana had ended up buying a ton of cheap drinks with her fake ID and her, Gray, and Natsu drank on the curb of the abandoned highway until sunset. That lead to this massive hangover Tuesday morning, the day of a quiz in History. Sting's parents had seen Sting’s growing numbness and simply called in sick for him.

They probably know he’s hungover: his father had raised an eyebrow and sniffed the air when he'd come home slammed that evening with no homework done and a fuzzy mind. But Sting’s parents weren't one to pass judgment on him: his father loved parties in high school as well, and his mom had a drug phase in college. They loved him dearly, but it was his life to destroy if he chose to do so.

He washes his mouth out with far too much mouthwash, nearly choking on the overly artificial mint flavor. It was so fake, burning his tongue and throat. Sting had never felt like this, vulnerable to the point _mouthwash_ could make him feel like puking. But he needed to be clean, to get rid of that putrid taste of acid and bile.

He stumbles back to his room, head spinning, heart pounding, and collapses onto his bed. He buries his face into his pillow, barely any sunlight streaming through his curtains. Today...nothing mattered. He is going to block out everything and sleep until he is himself again. Rogue relies on his strength, Rogue _needs_ him to be there...Sting can't let him down.

* * *

 

“What did I miss yesterday?” Sting asks as he approaches Rogue, Juvia, and Gajeel, the group of friends he hung out with when he didn't feel like living with the other’s bullshit.

“Oh, you know, the resurrection of Satan, a zombie apocalypse, a swim team orgy, 20 exams, and Mr. Neekis getting fired for provocative dancing,” Gajeel replies with heavy sarcasm.

“In all seriousness, Sting-sama, the quiz in history and a character analysis discussion of Alec Lightwood in book groups,” Juvia says softly.

“Fuck, I _love_ Alec!” Sting complains. “Just watch, I’m gonna end up having to analyze someone like Raphael who literally has like...5 appearances!” He is feeling a bit better today, enough to be excited about this book they picked for their group book report in English. But that mood subsides when he spots Rogue sitting under the nearby tree alone on the edge of the planter, looking down at his shoes in silence.

He opens his mouth to speak when Gajeel quickly interrupts him, “Don't even bother. He hasn't looked at anyone all day, or even spoken. He's been like this since he woke up.”

Sting’s heart floods with worry. “Rogue…” he whispers, almost hoping the other would hear him, but there is never an answer. His name is lost in the light wind, carried away and lost. “H-How was he yesterday?” Sting asks, almost afraid to know the answer.

Gajeel sighs, folding his arms. “Pretty much the same. He talked, though. Just short, one word answers. But at least he said _something_.”

Sting shakes his head, heart breaking in his chest. “He’s getting so much worse…” Sting whispers, voice shaking.

“Yeah.” Gajeel’s face is impassive, but his eyes are filled with concern. “I know. Something’s always been up with him but…”

“I’m going to try to get something out of him,” Sting sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. Gajeel’s eyes flash with warning but Sting ignores him and approaches Rogue. He stands right in front of him, voice soft as he speaks, “Hey.”

Rogue doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. His eyes remain empty.

Sting sighs, and tries again. He doesn’t want to bring up something that could set off negativity, like asking about homework or if Rogue was okay, so instead...he starts to ramble. “You should really read the book my group picked for English. It’s really good. It’s got cool ways of seeing angels and demons...which I know you love."

When Rogue still doesn’t respond, Sting continues. “I think you’d really like Alec. He’s my favorite character.” Sting’s heart twists in his chest. Still nothing. A bit of desperation creeps into his voice, but he quickly shuts it out. “Rogue…?” He hopes that his name will bring Rogue’s attention, but it is just as hopeless as everything else he’s said. “Hey...it’s me.”

The bell ringing startles Sting, but Rogue acts like he heard nothing. “C’mon, time for class.” When Rogue doesn’t move, Sting reaches out and grabs his elbow. “Rogue, you-”

Sting staggers back, hand burning. His eyes widen in horror when he realized that Rogue slapped his hand away. “R-Rogue…” he whispers, voice trembling with emotion. He felt so damn useless, so betrayed… “Please...at least go to class, alright? You need to pass this year…”

Still no response. Sting swallows down acid in his mouth, tears slowly starting to fall. “Okay...if you’re going to be like this...I would stay, but I’m so sorry...I can’t. If I miss class, my parents would kill me…” Guilt raging in his stomach, Sting turns away and runs.

He doesn’t look back.

* * *

 

Sting staggers through the front door, feeling emotionally and physically exhausted. His mind is all over the place, and he wishes he could just fall to the floor and sleep for days. He was able to get no work done at school today...his motivation had gone to shit. He drops his backpack by the door and goes straight to his bedroom. The house is quiet and dark, his parents both out at work. They would be gone until late.

Sting collapses onto his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He looks over at _The City of Bones_ on his nightstand, the book he so dearly had grown to love, despite his minor dislike for reading. He wanted to immerse himself in the pages, fall into their world. But when his fingers touch the soft pages, the words blur in front of his eyes. He slams it shut and sets it down beside him.

Sting instead reaches for his phone. He turns on some Adam Lambert and goes to browse what was on sale at his favorite clothing store. But everything he sees, even things he used to want, didn’t appeal to him. He turns off his music and goes to Youtube instead, trying to find a good Buzzfeed video. None of the titles interested him. He clicked on one of his favorite funny Let’s Plays, but he didn’t laugh a single time. Frustrated, Sting throws his phone to the floor.

Next he grabs his DS, preparing to play Pokemon. But when the DS battery light flashes red, he shakes his head and closes it. He didn’t want to get up, it was way too much effort. He could get up and go to his Xbox, or get up and dance a bit to his dance playlist. He could also go find his hand weights and do his routine for the day. But that meant moving.

Sting sighs, lying on his back and staring blankly up at the ceiling. He isn’t bored, he isn’t tired. He is simply...empty...numb...void. What is happening to him…? He didn’t even want to do things he enjoyed, things that always cheered him up.

Despite not wanting to move, he finds himself in front of the bathroom sink an hour later. He didn’t know what happened, or how it happened, but he is back on his bed fifteen minutes later, eyes dry, face stone...with a single bandage on his wrist.

* * *

 

“Stinggggg~” Natsu singsongs, waltzing up to his friend beaming. “I’m having another blowout party tonight, Gray’s smuggled some good vodka and Orga’s inviting his DJ cousin, it’s gonna be a blast! Are you gonna show?”

“No,” Sting replies bluntly, trying to wiggle out of Natsu’s grasp.

Natsu’s expression crosses with hurt. “No…?” He sighs, shoulders slumping. “Is it because I said something stupid to you last time?’

“That, and I just don’t want to.” Sting sticks his earbud he pulled out of his ear to talk to Natsu back in, shutting him out and the rest of the world. He sees Natsu make a weird shrugging motion, then walks over to Cana, most likely to relay the same information. Sting watches as Cana keeps swigging from her flask, and his mind flashes back to his terrible, hungover Tuesday. Was Cana hurting inside for some reason? Was that why she turned to drinking?

For some reason, Sting had started seeing the faded outlines of everyone around him. The masks they wore were cracking under his gaze. What had brought him this strange ability, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything.

It’d been a week since the first scar had appeared. Now, there were seven. Seven battles he'd lost...without even bothering to try. It wasn’t a loss...it was a surrender.

After all, he couldn’t help Rogue anyways. Rogue was suffering, fading from reality. Sting had tried to pull him back, paint him in all of his glory again, that beauty Sting had fallen in love with.

Fallen in love with...how odd to think about. He’d loved Rogue so fiercely, and now he felt nothing. There is a turmoil inside of him that refuses to fade. But it is a turmoil of something else entirely.

“Do you have your homework, Sting?” asks Mr. Neekis, standing beside Sting’s desk. Sting shakes his head, hardly hearing him over the music he had turned up as loud as it could go. Although it was a quiet song, it muffled and distorted all the things around him. Neekis is disappointed, Sting can tell. “This is the third time in a week, Sting. You need to start getting back on track.”

As he walks away, Sting gazes up at the florescent lights on the ceiling. They were far too bright, blinding him. As Mr. Neekis talks about something scientific and super complicated, Sting lets everything wash into white, then fade into nothing.

* * *

 

Two weeks. Fourteen scars. An old sweatshirt. Scuffed up converse. Hair unwashed in four days. Face pale, dark circles under the eyes.

This is Sting Eucliffe. Or he used to be. Now, he doesn’t know who he is. Without his usual flair for the dramatic, clothes that fit way too snug, perfect beaming smile and pop music, he is no one. But even more...he’s missing a crucial part. He’s missing his other half...a shy smile, dark hair covering one eye, a scar across the bridge of a clean-cut nose, a laugh more beautiful than any other sound, and a mind so sharp he made records.

None of that existed anymore.

* * *

 

“Sting!”

A blond head whirls around, eyes wide in shock. His name...spoken with such enthusiasm, such joy… Who the hell would want to see him?

Of course, that is a silly question. The voice rang out loud and clear in his head. The way every letter of his name is pronounced, the uplifted shout across the schoolyard...only one person ever said his name like that.

“R-Rogue?” he whispers. Panting and skidding to a halt, Rogue stops in front of Sting. They are alone in the light rain, everyone else huddling under the overhangs or taking shelter in the hallways. Sting laughs shakily. “This has to be a dream.”

Rogue shakes his head, water spilling down his face, dripping from his hair. “No, it’s not. I thought it was too at first…”

“What was?” Sting’s voice is cold and empty.

Rogue flinches visibly at his tone. “...A lot of things. But I was more talking about...this…” Rogue suddenly pulls out a small group of papers from in his pocket. He leans close to Sting, keeping them sheltered from the rain. Sting’s fingers trace the paper, eyes wide in shock. _Chapter 5 Exam. Score: 98/100. Review Sheet. Score: 34/40. Lab #13. Score: 46/50. Page 134, Problems 1-19. Score: 18/19. Poetry Annotation Project. Score: 92/100._

For the first time since that fateful day he broke, Sting feels tears brim in his eyes. “You…”

Rogue sighs, looking down at his feet. “I...I realized I hurt you, Sting. That by going down, I was dragging you with me. After you ran off to class, I looked after you. I thought about what you said… I realized you tried to avoid anything that would’ve made me upset… You only wanted me back. Our friendship that you cherished so much… And I didn’t listen. I thought...I thought that if maybe I made an effort to get better again..I could help you the way you helped me.”

“More like _tried_ to help you,” Sting breathes. “Rogue, I’m fucking useless. I _failed._ ”

“If you had failed, you’d be standing in front of a gravestone right now,” Rogue says firmly, and Sting’s heart drops into his stomach. “Sting, I’m not saying you’re the only reason I’m still alive, because not only is that fucked up it’s not true, but hell did you help. It was my fault...I made you think you didn’t mean anything to me...simply because I thought you would never be able to help me.”

Rogue’s eyes shine with tears, seeming to glow in the rain. “But you did.”

Sting swallows hard. “I...saved you?” Rogue nods silently. Sting takes a shaky breath, unable to speak. His lip trembles, the earth moves below him, and Sting falls to his knees. His sobs shake his body as Rogue gently kneels beside him.

“You’re wearing a sweatshirt,” Rogue says softly. “Even in rain you’d never do that.” He has a small, sad smile on his face. Sting looks up at him, eyes filled with fear and guilt. “No need to look at me like that, Sting. I’ve done it myself, and you know that.”

“Why?” Sting’s voice is a breath of wind.

Rogue laughs once, empty and humorless. “Why? Because we wanted to feel something. We’d both gone so numb, the only way we could make sure we were still alive _somewhere_ , we had to inflict the pain on ourselves.”

Sting looks down at his feet, the old scuffed converse soaked by rain. “Yeah...I felt nothing...for so long...and then...and then you showed up again..and I…”

“Felt something,” Rogue finishes for him, his voice also airy. “Yeah. I know what you mean…”

Sting shakes his head slightly, not enough to truly be noticeable. “Do you, though…?” He stands up, sighing deeply, eyes flicking upwards to the cloudy sky. “I doubt you’ll ever understand…”

“Then help me understand.” Sting’s eyes move to Rogue’s face as his friend stands up to face him, and all he sees is resolute determination. Without thinking, Sting grabs Rogue’s cheeks and slams his lips against Rogue’s. Warmth floods through his body, and Sting finds his eyes closing and heart fluttering. Rogue lets out a gasp against Sting’s lips, and it’s then that Sting realizes...he’s not kissing back.

Instantly Sting breaks them apart, eyes filling with fresh tears. “I told you you wouldn’t understand,” he whispers, voice broken and cracked. Rogue opens his mouth, stepping towards Sting, trying to grab the edge of his sweatshirt, but Sting runs.

He runs off of campus, not caring about the consequences, eyes blurring with tears, rain falling faster around his damp blond locks. His throat chokes up as he keeps running, not caring about much of anything any more. He’d really done it now…

It wasn’t that Rogue didn’t know Sting was gay, in fact, he did know. But is Rogue gay…? Sting had no idea...and he isn’t going to stay to find out. No, most likely, Rogue isn’t interested in him. They were friends, best friends, and nothing more. And now, he’d lost Rogue as soon as he’d gotten him back. Without Rogue...he truly is nothing.

Sting finds himself on the edge of an old iron bridge over the trickling creek nearby. The slightly rusted metal leaves residue on his hands as he runs them over the cold, wet surface, watching the water that was collected on top drip off the edge to the rocky brook below. He feels nothing once more, not even disappointment or heartbreak or grief.

“All I am is a mistake,” Sting whispers, gripping the bridge’s tresses again. He starts to climb, wind and rain blowing his hair. “All I ever have done is caused people pain. I don’t deserve love or affection, nor do I deserve someone as wonderful as Rogue.”

He accidentally cuts the palm of his hand on the metal, leaving crimson to pool up with the rainwater, staining it. He rolls back his sleeves, trying to climb better, revealing the seven cuts on each arm, scars visible for all the world to see. He is done with hiding. He is done with being. He is done with living.

He reaches the top, standing up straight. He looks down over the edge at the water below, falling over mossy rocks. His toes are right on the edge, and past them, the expanse of greens, browns, and pristine water. The trees are lush around him in the rain, and all Sting can think is how beautiful the world truly is.

In his weakest moment, he sees it all.

One final tear streaks his cheek as a small smile crosses his lips. “Would you look at that, Rogue… There is beauty after all. The world isn’t out to kill you...the world is trying to tell you something. The world is trying to show you that you’re meant to stay. Because you fought so hard...harder than me. And you’re going to make it out of this war alive. You’re going to go so, so far…you’re going to be amazing.”

“You claim to be in my shadow, but that was never the case. I was always struggling to catch up to you, Rogue. You were the one meant to live a life of meaning...and I existed to get you there.” His smile widens. “After all...I wouldn’t have wanted anything else.”

“I love you, Rogue…”

Greens and browns and blues and shimmering silver melt into a mess of painted beauty. Wind falls around him as he closes his eyes and breathes. The air is crisp and cool, refreshing his soul. His heart aches, but it also sings. The swirl of color around him as like nothing he’d ever seen, blurred by rain and fading tears.

And he closes his eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm leaving the ending open for interpretation. :) If you want your poor little broken heart to believe Rogue followed him and called out to him before he could jump, go ahead and think that.
> 
> Or if you're twisted like me you can go the other way.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed~


End file.
